Charles is having an affair. Good God, but it is true. Lester Conroy brought the report yesterday, complete with photos, but I could not look at them. It took two Crown Royals to read the damn report and another to listen to Lester fill in the rest. Miriam Desantro; artist, woodworker, former teacher. One son, Nathan. Widow. Respected in the community. Keeps to herself. Now that I have her name, I don’t want to know anything else. What does it matter? The other woman exists. She is real.
What to do? Should I confront Charles the moment he walks in the door? Wait until we’ve finished our “welcome home” dinner and Christine and that good-for-nothing Harry Blacksworth have left? Then should I tell him I know? Demand an explanation and an immediate end of whatever is going on in Magdalena, NY?
Lester says the town is small and insignificant, the kind you drive right past on your way somewhere else. He told those who asked that he was a salesman, just traveling through.
Lester says people are friendly enough, if a bit wary of a stranger.
But Charles didn’t drive right through, now did he? Indeed not! I hate him right now, hate them both as I envision Charles MY husband and this other woman together—in bed and out. She is stealing My time, MY life, MY opportunity with Charles and I hate her for that. Is it comfort she offers? I can offer comfort, too. But does he ask? Does he come to me and mourn the loss of his sister, his youth, the medical career he wanted? Even the loss of our dead children? NO! He does none of those things. He will be home tomorrow and I will be waiting for him.
